


Going Swimmingly

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-01
Updated: 2002-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-10 12:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11127360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Fraser ponders his feelings for Ray as he waits for his lover.





	Going Swimmingly

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Going Swimmingly

## Going Swimmingly

by Aouda Fogg

Disclaimer: Not mine <sigh> Alliance's <sigh> No infringement or violation intended.

Author's Notes: Thanks to Keys for the beta and for battling the fearsome canvasses of the north ;) (May 29, 2002)

Story Notes: This tale actually has a real warning! It contains a bit of angst and a description of Rayouchies . . . he's ok (really, honest, I could never hurt Ray permanently), but if you don't like that kind of story, take off, eh! ;)   


* * *

Standing here, watching him, all the pride, admiration, and awe I feel for him wells up inside me, tightening my throat. He is amazing. 

I have promised myself never to take what I feel for this man for granted. Luckily, the reality of how deeply I care about him gives me an anchor to hold on to, something to contrast the past with. Everything else pales by comparison. 

I clear my throat quietly, trying to ease my uncharacteristic sentimentalism, but he hears me somehow, despite the splashing, the laughter, and the usual exercise music. 

He hones in on my location immediately, grins, then quickly turns back to the matter at hand. I wonder about it sometimes. This connection we have. The way we can find each other across a crowded room. It always strikes me as really rather miraculous. 

And I relish it now more than ever. 

There are still a few minutes left of the session, so I stand back against the wall and wait. The air is heavy and close with humidity and chlorine. It feels rather sultry, quite a contrast to the snow falling outside, and I'm thankful I had time to change out of my serge. The tropical feel of the air seems to heighten everything; every sound echoes wildly off the mosaic walls, and the scent of chlorine permeates everything so deeply, it's almost a living entity. I'm sure the atmosphere is identical in every city pool in every city around the world. Certainly this one here in Chicago is identical to the one I visited once with my grandparents one day in Yellowknife. It is a sameness that always seems vaguely comforting. 

I return to the present to realize the class is winding down; they are doing their final stretches. As they rotate their necks for the last time, the group makes their way to the sides and the steps. He is right there in their midst, moving almost easily now. The women grouped around him all hover close, talking a mile a minute. He is grinning and nodding, answering first one, then another. He is the only man in the class, and while the women range in ages from early twenties to late seventies, he has them all eating out of his hand. Being the sole male made him hesitant at first, but they all welcomed him eagerly, mothering him a bit, flirting far more than a bit. In a way, I believe, he has become their mascot. 

They've watched him progress over the last several months, as, of course, have I. His range of motion in his arm and leg has almost completely returned, and the muscles and bone are getting stronger every day. When he first began the aquacise, he had difficulty walking and his left arm tired very easily. Now, however, he is approaching the strength he had before The Accident. 

The Accident. 

Strange how I always seem to capitalize both words when I think of it. But that's what we call it. The Accident. 

We both find it ironic that we made it through several months of exploring the Territories, where one bad decision can send you down a crevasse, never to be seen again, with barely a scratch and some windburn, but that just two weeks after he returned to active duty here in Chicago, he'd gone over the side of a building in pursuit of a kidnapper. 

Of course, he wouldn't have been Ray had he not gone after the man. Charles Anthony. He'd kidnapped a little girl, holding her for ransom and, considering his history, it seemed likely he would abuse her. Cases involving children have always affected Ray deeply, and he'd been determined to find young Katrina and bring her home safely. 

He had. The little girl was back, safe with her parents. They brought her by every couple weeks to see Ray and check up on him. They are good people and Katrina has adopted us both as sort of honorary uncles. She and Ray have helped each other recover. 

Unfortunately, Anthony had escaped from custody as they were placing him in the back of a patrol car. He'd killed one of the patrolmen. Both Ray and I saw it happen, but we were just too far away to prevent it. Something which will haunt us both for years to come. 

We gave chase, racing after Anthony, both of us determined he would not get away. Finally, we'd cornered him atop an office building on Picardy Street. He feigned unconsciousness, and when Ray had gone in closer, had grabbed my partner. They struggled. One particularly violent shove had taken them too close to the edge. Before I could stop them, they'd both gone over the side. 

I have not yet forgiven myself for not catching Ray. He says I need to get over it, that he has, that he does not blame me, never did. His generosity humbles me. I'm trying to do as he asks, but the nightmares still come at least once a week. 

In them, I always look over the edge and see his crumpled body on the pavement and am locked in place, unable to get to him, save him, help him. The very worst ones have him staring up at me with his bright blue eyes dimming asking why I didn't catch him. 

I have thanked all the gods I could think of that that didn't happen. Charles Anthony managed a single good deed in his life, or, perhaps more properly, in his death. He had broken Ray's fall. Ray survived; the kidnapper did not. I cannot find it in myself to feel sorry for the other man. 

Ray had, however, fallen hard on his left side. Thankfully, it had only been a three-story building. It could have been far worse. I could have lost him, which would have destroyed me. As it was, he'd suffered a fair amount of tissue and nerve damage to both his leg and arm, but, miraculously, he'd never lost all the motion in either one, and now he was almost back to full strength. 

All of his doctors are amazed, but I've always known he was miraculous. After all, he taught me how to really love for the first time in my life. 

We don't know yet if he will be able to return to full active duty, and if he can't, whether he'll accept a desk assignment. The other day he observed that maybe this was a good case to go out on; the good guys had won, the bad guy was gone, and the little girl was back with her family. Perhaps he has a point. Whatever he decides to do, I will be with him. He is more than just my friend, my partner, and my lover: he is my light. Undoubtedly, if some of my superiors or depot-mates could hear me say such a thing, they would check me for head trauma, or, to borrow a phrase from Ray, signs of alien abduction. I was surprised as well, but it's quite true. I am in love. I no longer live in the shadows watching other people. He has forced me into actively participating in life, not just reacting to it. An important distinction. 

He's reached the edge of the pool, his harem still surrounding him. None of us reach out to help him pull himself up the railing framing the stairs; he wants to do it himself. The tightness in my throat returns as I watch him rise out of the water easily, almost smoothly. 

I enfold him in the oversized towel from his bag then step back and let him take over. It is difficult sometimes not to hover, but he always lets me know - in no uncertain terms - when I slip into fussing over him. As he dries himself, the women around us beam and disperse. I'm sure they are aware of the nature of our relationship and their tacit approval makes this group of women even more of a safe-haven for both of us. I am not terribly demonstrative around others, but there are times when it is a relief to be able to touch him in public without having to worry who is watching. 

"Hey, Fraze." 

"Ray," I reply, returning his smile with a small one of my own. He sounds happy and pleased with himself. 

"Did you see how high I was getting the old leg, buddy? I'm getting pretty close to the surface with those front kicks." 

"Indeed you are, Ray. Most impressive." 

"Yeah, well, I'm an impressive kind of guy." 

The words are muffled a bit as he buffs his hair with the towel, making it more experimental than usual. 

"True." 

He lowers the towel to check if I'm teasing him, but I'm not. The look in my eyes tells him that. His eyes soften back at me. After a moment, he cocks his head and an eyebrow and stares at me, considering. "You know, I can be impressive in lots of ways." 

I reach out an arm so he can use me as a prop while he slides into this flip-flops. "Can you now? Anything you would care to demonstrate?" 

The warmth in his eyes has turned to heat. "I'm always up for a little friendly demonstration, Ben, you know that. Of course, there'll be a fee." 

"So this would not be a free demonstration." We begin walking slowly towards the locker room so he can change. I can feel myself soaking him in after a day apart, easing, relaxing. I wonder if is as apparent outside as it feels inside. Ray says he can tell, but then, he knows me far better than most; he also said he feels something similar when he sees me, so I suspect our data set is skewed. 

"No such thing as a free . . ." He makes me wait for it. "Lunch." 

"Oh, I see, Ray, so this payment involves food?" 

"Nah, I was thinking more of a RCMP issue backrub." 

"I think that could be arranged with the proper requisition order." 

"I'll start on the paperwork as soon as we get home, buddy." 

The quiet promise in his voice sets a pool of warmth loose inside me. I can't wait to get home; I tell him so. "I'd be happy to expedite the request." My voice is as husky and full of meaning as I can possibly make it. 

The happy, slightly lusty grin I love the best breaks out across his face. "Race ya'!" He crows and walks much faster. 

I follow, moving faster myself. 

* * *

End Going Swimmingly by Aouda Fogg:

Author and story notes above.


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